Trouble And Tears: A MPAS Short Story
by AspiringToBeLikeHe
Summary: Mr. Peabody never dreamed he could lose his boy, until now. Inspired by the picture on the corner, "He's Dead, Peabody, He's Dead" by What-The-Wabac on DeviantArt. Follow us both on there! PS, I don't own anything except this story.


New York City, 1913

On a small abandoned boardwalk outside the city, the sea calm was interrupted by a small whirling noise, that was followed by a burst of wind, lightning, and thunder. The natural forces became more intense for a second, then dissipated as a large red orb materialized on the spot: the WayBack reached it's destination in time. A section of the egg-like machine slid up and open, and the WayBack cloaked into the background as Mr. Peabody and his boy stepped out, ready to witness another part of history.

"Wow Mr. Peabody, this place is gigantic!" Sherman exclaimed as he took in the towering utopia.

"Indeed Sherman, New York City was in it's prime from the 1900's on, becoming one of the fastest growing cities in civilization and population. Which reminds me, stay close Sherman. There's a lot going on, and we must keep track."

He went on enriching Sherman with the city's rich culture and accomplishments of the period as they continued walking down the sidewalk. A few blocks ahead, another learning experience was taking place as a group of young men badgered, mocked, and beat a teenager trying desperately to hold his own.

"Ya think you're tough, Phonsie?" One said as he gave a blow to the boy's stomach. "Just 'cause you've been around, what made you think you could run with The 5 Points?"

"The greatest gang this side of Chicago, and you try to just walk in?" Another commented, kicking his side.

The young man may have been outnumbered, but he wasn't going to back down over an alley scuffle."Hey jugheads!" He called out."I know I don't look much for Points quo, but I'm as tough as all o' yous combined!"

The group just laughed at his flamboyancy, ready to pick up again until their leader, Frankie, motioned them to stop.

He smiled and said, "Fine, you think you're a big shot? Prove it. Right here, right now."

Although caught a bit off guard at the request, Phonsie didn't hesitate to pull what he thought would be enough as it had before: his father's stolen pistol. This made the gang laugh even harder.

"Hoo hoo, Phonsie's a gun toter!"

"Go on! I already been knived twice, just a scratch!"

Phonsie knew he had to act. He wasn't going out as a coward, and he refused to run out. However, just shooting a member would turn a request to join into a deathwish. He quickly looked for a solution and found it as he pulled the gun up and proved his worth.

"And over there is the future site of the Empire State Building, which for a long time "towered" above the world!" Peabody continued, chuckling to himself as Sherman was as confused as he usually was with his puns.

"Hey Mr. Peabody!" Sherman exclaimed a moment later,"I recognize those cars from pictures you showed me! It's a Model-T that Henry Ford made, and it's,...pretty fantastic!"

"Yes, yes Sherman, good eye, but we still have much more to see," the impatient dog pressed as the curious boy stood near the edge of the street to watch the cars go by." We have to catch the ferry to see Ellis Island, and then-"

BANG!

Peabody jumped out of his skin at the blast behind him.

"Sherman, we need to leave, there's trouble coming!" He spoke quickly as he turned. He never got to finish his thoughts though, because there Sherman laid, on the edge of the sidewalk with blood on him.

"SHERMAN!"

The gang stared as they took in the situation. Their seemingly easy target had pointed the gun their way, but had shown precision and boldness by shooting the innocent child instead, the making of a cold-blooded killer. As they saw an upright dog run to the boy's side, the gang ran down the alleyways, still agast at what he had done.

"Phonsie? What-"

"Blow it off! He's in!" Frankie interjected, and no one questioned as they ran. "That means we show him respect, right Alphonse? Or should I say Capone?"

Alphonse gave a quick look, and simply said, "the name's Al."

Mr. Peabody fell to the boy's side, not even noticing a strange group running off, and hastily examined him. The bullet had grazed his head as he had turned, but the force had blown him down. The genius concluded in rash denial, "it just brushed him, nothing too bad, just clean him up and take him home. He's ok, he is. He has to be." Peabody turn over to see him fully, and took in the sight. Sherman had indeed been grazed, but it had still hit his head in full force and pushed him on the concrete. He was limp and growing cold, with shattered glasses and a unknowing expression, so innocent and simple Peabody couldn't hide from it anymore.

He's dead, Peabody. He's dead. The dog fell to his knees as rain started to fall, and cried out for his boy. "Sherman! Please, I had some more I wanted to give! So much more I wanted to say! Please! Sherman, speak to me! I love you! ...please." He lost his ability to speak then, and all he could do was pound the pavement as he sobbed, crumbled at the loss of his beloved son.


End file.
